


A Visit to Antiva

by coveredinfeels



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Verbal Bondage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9826406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredinfeels/pseuds/coveredinfeels
Summary: A follow-up toWould Have, And Did.In which Rilienus' lover enjoys watching him have sex with other men, Rilienus enjoys being the centre of attention, Dorian is in charge of it all and The Iron Bull thinks that's hot. (Also some feelings).





	1. Chapter 1

Rilienus writes to him, fairly often; about matters in Antiva, about his work or Samael's niece, who he says is 'going through a dramatic eye makeup and necromancy phase, remind you of anyone?'

He also drops hints, barely subtle enough to be committed to paper, about his other activities. To wit: Rilienus is apparently fucking his way through approximately half of the population of Antiva, his lover is apparently enjoying the show, and Dorian and Bull are apparently invited to come and join the festivities whenever they please.

He's summarising, of course. The original versions are rather more coy and involve a lot of references to the sort of terrible smutty novels that were their shared favourites, back in the day. Dorian suspects that this is less because Rilienus is afraid to put down exactly what he's been up to on paper, and more because Rilienus is under the mistaken impression that he is _hilarious_.

Dorian finds himself a little more guarded in his replies. There's the fact that Leliana _will_ have her people check what goes out, and that he hasn't been up to anything nearly so interesting, at least not in terms of the number of people involved, and, well, there's the fact that he finds himself wanting to write things like _so, how long after you realise you're in love with someone is a suitable moment to confess?_

A terrible thought: perhaps that moment is already past, and he has missed it.

Even more terrible, though, would be letting Rilienus know what's going on. He'd never hear the end of it.

* * *

Bull is aware that Rilienus writes to him, of course, and of the general nature of the contents, because Dorian often complains to him about them. Has explained the references to ridiculous smutty books, where that cultural knowledge was relevant to understanding what an arse Rilienus is being in the particular letter he has to hand.

May have, on occasion, enjoyed the side effects that come with talking Bull through the plotlines, such as they are, of said items of dubious literature. Perhaps.

Another letter, written on a warm summer's night and then burnt before he can be stupid enough to send it _what is the protocol for responding to someone who just ruined all your love-confession plans by confessing first?_

Or how about absolutely not telling Rilienus anything about that? Even putting words to paper makes the matter all too fearsomely real. He writes about the dragon, instead; sends a book which is not proving much use to the Inquisition but might be suitable for a young Antivan necromancer, and tells Rilienus he'll consider visiting when the world is not actually ending.

That excuse ought to work for a little while, at least.

* * *

An autumn in which the world is not actually ending, not even a little bit, and Dorian writes to let Rilienus know they're taking up the offer of a visit. They could use a break, after all.

It is not, precisely, what he was expecting. He is not unfamiliar with Antiva City, at least the main thoroughfares, but the streets Rilienus leads them through as they pass further from the port grow narrower and narrower. In a street market a woman old enough to be their grandmother stops Rilienus for a swift exchange of gossip and vegetable themed innuendo.

The house is sandwiched between others, down a narrow little street that looks like all the rest. Rilienus' keys jangle obviously as he deals with the door, then a second door just beyond the entrance hall. The ward between is so subtly and swiftly dealt with that Dorian's fairly sure he could have blinked and missed it. Rilienus' magic appears to be the only thing about him that's gotten more subtle, to be honest.

It is not an unpleasant place, to be sure. It is surprisingly light and airy, humbly or at least plainly appointed although Dorian fancies he can recognise Rilienus' touch in some of the pieces, the smallest piece of Tevinter. There are, it seems, no servants. Rilienus insists on carrying Dorian's things to the guest room, or at least those that Bull hasn't long since hoisted over his shoulders.

He should be grateful, he supposes, that the Inquisition taught him a thing or two about travelling light.

“Samael likes to cook, and there's not really enough work to warrant having someone live-in.” Rilienus explains, “Besides, we value our privacy.” This last with a self-satisfied smirk.

“I bet.” Bull says, and Dorian doesn't even have to look to know what sort of expression he has on his face.

Once more, it's left to him to restore order. “Don't _start_ , Amatus. If you two stand here throwing innuendos at each other all day we'll never get anything done.”

He doesn't think about what he's said until Rilienus makes a noise of utter glee. The way Bull looks at him when he forgets himself like this is one thing (terrifyingly wonderful, how can it be permitted to want anything so much), the way Rilienus absolutely beams is quite another.

“Aww, Dorian. I'm so happy for you.” he says, sincerely, but with an utterly shit-eating grin that makes it obvious that this is not going to be his last word on the matter.

“I call him Kadan,” Bull adds, because he likes _not helping_. “In Qunlat it means 'my heart'.”

“I'm going to die.” Rilienus says, hand fluttering at his chest dramatically like some low-rent Minrathous actor playing the love-and-sickness-stricken hero. “You're going to kill me with how cute you two are. Do help yourself to the wine cellar when I'm gone. Samael only drinks red, so it would be considerate of you to start with the white.”

* * *

A little more friendly mockery and a fuller tour of Rilienus and Samael's house later, they're settled in with a passably drinkable Antivan white wine.

“So,” Rilienus says, setting down his drink. “Allow me to be blunt, in my own home. Under the assumption that Samael gets to look but not touch, what are my chances of seducing the pair of you into a second round?”

It isn't exactly unexpected, as an offer, but _honestly_.

They have discussed it, inevitably, since the last time Rilienus shared a bed with them. How excruciating a process that was. How gauche to have to lay it all out in words, _I am not loath to watch you fuck him but a kiss I could not bear_.

How warm to the heart The Iron Bull's own confessions: let me be there, let me look after you, let me be the one you lie down to sleep with when all else is done. So open and honest and yet, hesitant, as if The Iron Bull still thought he might be asking too much.

They have not invited anyone else to share their bed, as of yet. It is not as though Dorian is particularly minded to fuck his way through half the population of Antiva, or anywhere else, for that matter. Rilienus happens to offer a singular combination of being a source of nostalgia for Dorian's terrible, failed attempts at youthful romance, and actually being outside of Tevinter and not married to one of Dorian's cousins, like some other past lovers he might name.

Also, not to put too fine a point on it, he looks rather good when he's sucking cock.

Still, it wouldn't do to look overeager. “I'll consider it.” Dorian tells him. “I'd have to actually meet the man first, of course.”

Rilienus smirks. “And you, Bull?”

“Hey, Dorian's in charge here.” Bull puts up his hands. “I'm just along for the ride. Riding, or being ridden, it's all good.”

They had agreed on that point beforehand, but Dorian might have guessed that puns would be involved. Rilienus appears to have a quibble with the first part of that statement, though. “Who put Dorian in charge? Wrestle you for it, Pavus.”

He makes a exaggerated point of looking Rilienus over; he's hardly unfit but Rilienus has never in his entire life beaten Dorian at a physical duel. “You'll lose.”

“Mmm, so I expect.” Rilienus doesn't seem too bothered by this. “Better wait until Samael gets back, he adores watching me lose at wrestling.”

“Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?” _Honestly_.

“I'm sorry, I was under the impression you liked it thick.” Rilienus says, and waggles his eyebrows furiously.

“The more bad innuendo I have to hear, the lower your chances get.” Dorian warns him, and ignores both the soft chuckle from Bull and the answering grin that means that Rilienus already has a fairly good idea of exactly how good his chances are.

* * *

Samael, when he returns from his work-- some form of security service Rilienus refuses to be drawn on the details of-- is reasonably handsome, if you like that sort of thing, by which Dorian means Antivans a shade older than himself with a military bearing and an unfashionable haircut.

Rilienus straightens, alert, the moment the door opens, fidgeting with a level of anticipatory energy Dorian would have in the past associated with Rilienus in the moments before something explodes, possibly somebody's underthings, and bids his lover welcome home in a tone of soft contentment that Dorian normally wouldn't have associated with Rilienus at all.

It is sweet, for the moment before Rilienus seizes Samael's hand and turns to them. “Right, let's get the introductions over with so I can get you all naked.”

“I believe I can figure out which one of you is Dorian Pavus and which is The Iron Bull.” Samael says, offering a hand to Dorian. “I do apologise. Patience is not one of Rilienus' virtues.”

It's a good, firm handshake. “Patience has never been one of Rilienus' virtues.”

“Patience is an entirely overrated concept.” Rilienus says, as Samael turns to give Bull a handshake, and an appraising look. “Not even a proper virtue.”

“Why don't we discuss things over dinner.” Samael suggests, aiming it towards Bull.

Bull grins. “I could eat, but like I told Rilienus, Dorian's in charge here.”

Samael turns back to them, looking a little surprised but not displeased, if Dorian's any judge. He considers making some comment about assumptions, but Rilienus gets there first. “That's what he thinks, anyway. We're going to wrestle for it.” A pause. Samael bites his lip, just barely, and Rilienus smirks. “ _After_ dinner. Patience is a virtue, right?”

Samael snaps up straight, and he heads straight towards the kitchen without another word.

“You can be charge of the rest.” Rilienus informs Dorian, cheerfully, “as long as I always remain in charge of watching him squirm.”

“Is it still necessary to wrestle for it?” Dorian's not sure at exactly what point he agreed to go along with this, but-- yes, he thinks he will. A quick glance across to Bull, but he just looks like he's enjoying the show.

“But of course! Do you want to plan out in what compromising position you're going to pin me in advance, or shall we play it by ear?”

* * *

Dinner, first. Some unfamiliar fish, lightly spiced, accompanied by the vegetables Rilienus was making off colour-jokes about in the marketplace. Rilienus serves it out, skimming the spoon across the top when it comes to his own plate to avoid whatever the little yellow squash is, no doubt some local delicacy.

Samael gives him a look for it, and Rilienus answers that with an extra spoonful of mostly yellow on Samael's plate, and it's altogether far too domestic for words. Ghastly, really.

Bull squeezes his wrist under the table, not a prearranged signal but a comfort, all the same. Dorian lets the touch linger for a moment before he withdraws his hand. Tastes the yellow-- really, Rilienus, it's not _that_ bad-- and then considers the two across the table from them.

“How did you meet, actually? Rilienus has told me three different versions, each less likely than the last.” Not originally what he was planning to ask, but yes, let's start there.

Samael gives Rilienus a rather singular look. “Oh?”

“The truth is boring.” Rilienus declares. “The truth doesn't even have assassins in, and this is _Antiva_. I made you utterly dashing in all versions, don't worry.”

He actually pats Samael's hand when he says it. “Blessed Andraste, could you be any more disgustingly adorable?”

“I think,” Rilienus says, “you will find it is you who is adorable. Because. Adores. A. Bull. Get it?”

“ _The_ Bull,” Dorian informs him. “The article is important.”

“Thank you, Kadan.”

Samael clears his throat. “We met through a mutual employer, actually.”

“See? Dull.”

“There was _one_ assassin, but neither of us would have been his targets and the Crows don't really like to leave collateral damage if they can help it. I believe it's considered poor form.” Samael takes up his fork, carefully. “I do hope you like the fish-- I thought a light supper might be in order, all things considered.”

“You never told me about the--” Rilienus starts, then stops again. Frowns. “You _bastard_.”

“This is Antiva.” Samael says, calmly. “If you lie about assassins everyone will believe you. Stories about mistaken identities, masquerade balls, and interestingly shaped birthmarks, less believable.”

“Ugh, they're _cute_.” Dorian whispers to Bull.

A grin in return. “Yeah, but we're adora _bull_.”

It is quite possible he's still going to regret this, just for the puns alone, but by _this_ he means ever letting Rilienus and Bull interact in the first place, not the sex part.

The sex part is going to be _brilliant_.

* * *

There are questions he needs to ask, first, of course. Not the first ones he asks, because he does want to know what sort of a man Samael is, and it's also amusing to keep turning the conversation to politics or history every time Rilienus attempts to turn it to less salubrious things.

Bull just seems to want to argue with Samael about architecture, which is amusing in and of itself, although Dorian does personally not have any particular interest in how stones go together as long as the resultant wall is sturdy enough to fuck against.

But they get around to those questions, eventually (patience is a virtue, after all).

“I don't physically interact with Rilienus' partners.” Samael says. “I will offer suggestions if you like, and I occasionally, ah, assist in the proceedings if you require an additional set of hands, but it's not necessary. I usually just watch.”

“For my birthday he fingered me in front of a bar full of sailors and then set me loose.” Rilienus says, either by way of explanation of _assist_ or just as a boast. Perhaps both. “I deflowered a charming young Petty Officer who was certainly not at all petty in the pants department. Possibly two, but the other one didn't want to admit he'd never had his cock sucked before.”

Samael shifts in a way that might suggest he's uncomfortable, but probably just in the 'pants department'. “I use _talon_ as a watchword, to end the scene if I find it necessary. Beyond that, if Rilienus is happy, I'm happy.”

“I'm going to be so happy.” Rilienus says. “I don't have anything to add from last time around, although-- the rule about _no magic_ , does that still hold if it's Dorian doing delightfully wicked magical things to me? Because he's quite skilled in such matters.”

“I know.” Bull says, and now it's Dorian's turn to squirm a little in memory. He might have been a _little_ bit dwelling on tavern stories of Tamassrans the evening he'd decided to demonstrate the advantages of certain spells, in the hands of a sufficiently talented mage.

He'd rather expected the offer to be refused; a step too far across the line for a man who even now still freezes a moment if Dorian is incautious enough to invoke flame too close or without sufficient warning. He'd stepped across the line anyway, and prepared himself to brush off the rejection with an appropriately inappropriate jest.

He had _not_ been prepared for the agreement, and he'd definitely not been prepared for how swiftly the agreement had gone from cautious to enthusiastic. A second set of terrible curtains had nearly been the victims of his ill-preparedness.

“Then--”

“No magic.” Bull says, like a door closing, and Dorian knows that's a wise boundary to set for many reasons, but would it be so terrible if he imagined Bull also had selfish reasons for wanting that part of Dorian all to himself?

Well, while he's being ridiculous, he might as well let Rilienus know the other rule they've set. “I do have one additional condition.” he says, and braces himself for Rilienus' reaction. “You're not to touch his mouth.”

Rilienus gives him a long look that makes him feel rather transparent, but smiles easily. “Just to be clear, I'm still allowed to put my mouth on him? Because I didn't get a chance last round, and, well--” Another long look, this time focused on Bull while Dorian silently blesses Rilienus for the unexpected tact and the (all things considered) expected change of subject. “Not sure that's going to be a one-person job, to be honest.”

Dorian tuts at him. “You used to have such ambition when you were young. What happened?”

“Didn't say I wasn't willing to _try_.” Rilienus retorts. “Was just _Thinking of Vyrantium_ , is all.”

The last is the title of a very terrible novel which Rilienus used to keep hidden inside another, hollow book in his bookshelf (under the mattress is for amateurs), and Dorian knows exactly what scene he's referencing.

Well.

That's an interesting suggestion, to be sure. He might even consider it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maker how long since i updated this?
> 
> this chapter contains: some actual porn, bottom!Bull, some light verbal domination, Dorian's many feelings

The space Rilienus leads them to is downstairs, through a door by the kitchen that Dorian had presumed led down to the cellar.

He's half right. It's nothing like the dusty, narrow spaces underneath his parents' house he used to break into to steal the good wine, and, on one memorable occasion, to get his cock sucked by the wine steward. It's much more open, beautiful stone arches and ceilings tall enough that Bull doesn't even have to stoop. Well, much.

“It's the stone on this side of the city.” Samael says, proudly. “You can carve an open space in it, the way you couldn't in softer soil.”

“Most people still just put wine in theirs.” Rilienus adds, raising a hand. Hesitates, with a glance at Bull. “If I may?”

Bull nods, and fire leaps from Rilienus' fingers, adding the warm glow of the wall sconces to the lantern Samael holds. “We value our privacy, and also not getting complaints from the neighbours.” Samael says.

“That happened _once_ , and the nosy bastard shouldn't have been peering in the windows anyway, and he also should have been grateful for the view.” Rilienus says, with a rather overdone dramatic pout, and then sweeps a bow. “This way.”

There is a very large bed, and a series of wooden cabinets that Dorian presumes hold all the accoutrements one could desire if one was busy fucking one's way through half the population of Antiva so one's lover could watch, and a small couch to one side, presumably so that Samael can watch. In fact, he's already settling down in it, confirming that part of the equation. “Are you still planning to wrestle me for the position of orgy boss, Rilienus?”

“We haven't got the numbers for a proper orgy and you know it.” Rilienus replies, shucking his shirt by way of answer. “Naked?”

“Might as well leave your smalls, give me something to tear off you.” Dorian says, because despite his protests to Bull that's something he's rather enjoyed in the past, on either side of the equation. It doesn't take as much strength as people assume, either-- all about the seams, you see.

“You presume I'm wearing smalls.” Rilienus says, but he is, in the end, surprisingly sensible ones, too. At least Dorian won't feel bad about destroying anything too expensive.

His own are not his best, either, but then again he has been travelling. Still, seeing as he has _absolutely no intention_ of letting Rilienus get the upper hand, it doesn't really matter. “Bull, perhaps you could join Samael for the moment?”

Rilienus takes up an _actual_ wrestling pose on the bed, arse unsubtly pointed towards the viewing area, and Dorian has to bite back laughter before he takes up the opposite slot. There's a good reason why wrestling is both a popular past-time _and_ subject of 'artistic expression' in certain subsections of Tevinter society, after all. All good and healthy physical exercise, very character-forming for young men, and nothing about excuses to grope each other while half-naked, certainly.

Rilienus always cheats, but then again, Dorian does too. He lets it go on for a little longer than necessary – Rilienus wriggling beneath him, refusing to admit defeat in a way that's definitely more about putting on a show than anything else, but he can feel Bull's gaze heavy on him and he can relate, certainly. Be the one to flex his muscles, for a time, as Rilienus makes noises that seem entirely disproportionate to the fact that he's only getting pinned and they're still both wearing their smalls.

It only takes an appropriately firm hand in Rilienus' hair to have him gasping “Pax, pax, you cheat!” followed in a moment, predictably, by “Still got my smalls, though.”

He doesn't actually rip them off, but they do tear a little on the way down. “Oh dear.” Dorian says, making sure to infuse his voice with exactly the amount of regret he feels about this turn of events. “Now that's settled-- Bull, if I could have you naked and up against the headboard, please?”

“You're the boss.” Bull replies easily, as Dorian enjoys being the one to watch for a moment, including the evidence that Bull is certainly not at all one to object to watching the Tevinter style of wrestling. He'd rather expected that; it would follow from his usual response to watching Dorian stretch. Flexibility is very important for a mage, as it so happens, and he might have on occasion permitted an audience to his exercises. Perhaps.

Dragging his attention back to Rilienus for a moment, he lets go of him long enough to get rid of his own smalls. Rilienus doesn't bother trying to escape, just wriggles pointedly. “Thinking of Vyrantium?” Dorian asks him.

“Oh, certainly.” Rilienus replies. “Put me on the near side, would you? Wouldn't want to block Samael's view.”

The anonymous author of the said novel had certainly had a thing for oral sex, if one was to judge from the lavishly described blowjobs that were a feature of all the sex scenes. There is one in particular that stood out. It is nearly amusing to think now, that at the time they had thought _this_ was such a scandalous act.

It's just Rilienus shifting to press a coy kiss to the head of Bull's cock, body carefully angled for the benefit of their audience. It's just Dorian holding Bull's gaze as he settles on the other side. “Do keep your hands where they are, Amatus, if you'd be so kind.”

“I'm not sure I like that rule,” Rilienus says. “Who's going to grab my hair?” He drags it over one shoulder as he speaks, presumably the better to keep his face on show for Samael.

“If only you had a good friend who might indulge if you if you'd quit giving away the plan in advance.” Dorian retorts, and uses the excuse to tug him closer for a little direction, sotto voce. “He likes vocal enthusiasm and a good show, no need to overexert yourself attempting anything too ambitious.”

“I'm sure I can manage that.” Rilienus responds. “Although I feel as if I might be being underestimated right now.” A pause. “But only by a fraction, admittedly. It is _rather_ the task you've laid before me.”

“Are you conspiring against me?” Bull asks. He doesn't exactly sound worried about the prospect.

“Always, amatus.” Dorian reassures him. “Now, let us take care of you, and don't you _dare_ move. Hands on the bedclothes, if you will.”

Bull grins. “It's like that, is it?”

“Dorian's so bossy.” Rilienus says, nearly wistful. “That was always my favourite thing about him.”

What can he say to that? Nothing, only nudge Rilienus away from reminisces and back towards Bull's cock. It is a little uncoordinated at first, this thing. Dirty novels might insist that two heads are better than one, but tend not to mention the practical difficulties in arranging them. Once he remembers that Rilienus is likely to not have any complaints about being physically manoeuvred into position, it becomes easier.

He forgets Samael is there, for a little while; he's not commenting, and Dorian is busy making sure Bull is enjoying himself, although judging by the look on his face there is no problem there. “I can see you thinking about moving.” he informs Bull. “Remember, I decide what you need tonight.”

Bull shivers delightfully, he can feel it where their bodies touch. On occasion, Bull seems to enjoy a stricter hand. Not pain, ridiculous qunari customs involving sticks aside, which is just as well from Dorian's perspective. Just a certain mood, which Dorian would like to think he's gotten better at spotting over time, in which words are as sufficient restraints as ropes and denial or over indulgence at Dorian's hands are equally effective tactics.

It is not exactly what Dorian would call a burden, to indulge him so.

He hadn't really planned ahead in detail, but looking at him now he knows exactly his next move. No sooner than he looks around for what he needs, than Samael appears in his line of sight, wordlessly offering an open jar. Honestly, he begins to wonder if the man has at some point trained as a butler.

At any rate, it is good unscented stuff, if a little cold from being stored in a cellar. Mindful of the _no magic_ rule, he takes a couple of moments to warm it between his fingers the old-fashioned way. Rilienus is keeping himself occupied, and Bull's attention drawn, with that delightfully greedy mouth of his, but it doesn't escape Dorian's attention that Samael's fingers rest a moment at the nape of Rilienus' neck, before he sits back down, and that Rilienus' body manages to curve into that brief touch.

So terribly sweet. He makes a note to tease Rilienus about it later.

For now, he is more focused on the way that Bull's hips move, by will or instinct, when he nudges Rilienus over and his intent becomes clear. What a pleasure to know, both what strength is in the body that lies under his hands, and how easily it yields.

Convenient, too, to have Rilienus on hand (and mouth), so that Dorian can leave that side of things to him and press his fingers into Bull's body, can look up, up, to drink in every moment. A hand flexes against the sheets, not quite gripping, and Bull smiles and meets his gaze.

Well that won't do. Not nearly desperate enough. “Do you know what I'm thinking about right now?” he asks.

The arrangement of bodies means he has to bend his wrist in a terribly awkward fashion to get the right angle, but it's worth it for the moment when Bull opens his mouth to answer and only a short sharp moan emerges. “Something dirty?” he says, when he recovers, but Dorian has won the point and he thinks they both know it.

“I'm thinking about exactly how I'm going to tell Rilienus to fuck you.” he answers. Rilienus startles at the words, but then gives a wordless thumbs-up. Bull murmurs something in Qunlat, reverent, possibly about dragons, from the tone, which is generally a good sign.

He's thought about it a lot, actually. He hadn't been entirely sure he'd be willing to share this, the way that Bull is like this, under Dorian's hands. In the early days he'd made the same presumptions that he's sure nearly everybody had, and Hissrad had been sure to meet expectations-- delightfully so, certainly no complaints there.

The first time The Iron Bull had come to him after the Storm Coast, he'd brought ropes, and talked around the subject with some nonsense about anchors that to this day he insists is somehow far too difficult to translate. Dorian had set the ropes on fire, ordered him to keep his hands on the bed, and fucked himself on Bull's cock until he felt the point had been made.

And then, since Bull can be terribly stubborn sometimes, he'd made the point a couple more times over.

Now, as he watches his love's fingers twitch against the sheets he knows-- he can share this, as long as everyone involved fully understands that Bull is his.

“Do I get a hint?” he says now, gaze fixed on Dorian. Good. Exactly where his attention should be.

“I believe when our positions are reversed, that this would be the time I'd get some Par Vollen proverb about the value of _anticipation_.” Dorian informs him. “Besides, I did sort of promise Rilienus that somebody would grab his hair, and since your hands are _not_ moving from their current position, I suppose I'd better do it.”

He gently drags his fingers out of Bull, cleaning them on a bit of sheet when Samael doesn't immediately appear by his side with a hot towel or something, and shoves the pot of lubricant down to the end of the bed where hopefully nobody will kick it. The instant he kneels next to Rilienus, his hand snakes out to rest on Dorian's thigh, squeezing lightly once.

When he gently tangles his fingers in Rilienus' hair, he gets another squeeze, this one significantly harder. “If you wanted to be in charge, you shouldn't have thrown the wrestling match.” Dorian informs him, takes a moment to reestablish eye contact with Bull, and tightens his grip.

He fears it might be hard to judge, how hard to pull, how far, but Rilienus' palm remains flat against his thigh after that, and he seems to be making fairly content-- if rather muffled-- noises, so Dorian leaves him to it and concentrates on a certain person in the room who _thinks too much_ , even when he's been told not to.

He certainly has an excellent view from here. A veritable feast for the eyes, in fact. There is a scar that runs along the side of Bull's neck, particularly visible in the soft light. Bull likes to tell the part of the story where he got it fighting a dragon, and neglect the part where he got it shielding Dorian from one. He is tempted, for a moment, to call a stop to everything, kick Rilienus out of his own sex cellar-- rude, but Dorian has done ruder-- to kiss every mark, every scar that in even the smallest way has been of his doing.

And then perhaps to add some new ones, because if Bull must wear marks that are in some way Dorian's fault, they really ought to be from his teeth.

He intends, and hopes he has made it clear, in deed if not in word, to cherish this man. There is certainly a great deal of him to cherish, so it may take some time. Still, he rather hopes to see the task through to its end.

The moment passes. He can do all of that at a later date, after all.

Besides, he's realised that the change in position has another advantage-- almost all of Dorian, in all his rather undeniable glory, is now in Bull's line of sight. He can see that gaze drifting downwards, so he knows it's being appreciated, and seeing as he does have one free hand right now he uses it on his own cock, stroking lightly.

Lightly, because he is not made of stone and he has definite plans for later. Perhaps he should enlighten Bull as to some of them. “You're skipping ahead a few steps.” he says.

“Sorry.” Bull says. He doesn't sound sorry but he _does_ sound delightfully well-fucked and they haven't even gotten to that part yet, so Dorian supposes he'll forgive him. Possibly he already has.

“Stop thinking so much. Or, if you cannot, think about how unlikely it is I'm letting you get away with only one orgasm tonight.”

“Not much of a threat.” Bull tells him, but the words come out with some effort. 

“Threats are for people who can't follow through. This is more of a guarantee.” He releases Rilienus' hair, leans in to place an anchoring hand on Bull's hip. “Let go, Bull.”

The flip side of all that careful control is this: Bull's eye closing at Dorian's words, fists tightening in the sheets. The tension in the muscle under Dorian's hand, as he very carefully does _not_ thrust up into Rilienus' mouth.

Rilienus chokes a little, anyway, before he draws back, lets the excess spill messily down his chin. Possibly it would have been nice of Dorian to give him more warning, but he's not feeling particularly nice right now and besides, Rilienus looks perfectly content. Smug, actually. “Look what a mess you've made of me.” he says, sitting up and drawing a thumb across his lips, plump and dark and wet.

It isn't part of the plan, but Dorian grabs him and draws him into a kiss anyway, chasing the taste of Bull on his skin. “It's not a bad start.” he says, turning to check on Bull. The lift and fall of his chest says his breathing has evened out. His hands are still rooted in the bedsheets. “I think we can do better, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrestling is definitely a Good Wholesome Sport that Dorian participated in when he was younger for his physical health and no other reasons at all


End file.
